Why I dyed my hair red

Posted on January 5, 2017



Girl Combing Her Hair (1909) – William McGregor Paxton

Last New Year’s Eve, I dyed my hair red.

Not bright red. Cherry red, I guess. My mom helped me. What can I say? New year, new me. And hair is the first physical thing about me I can change.

It used to be weird-looking, but now it’s weird-looking and red.

I don’t really know what triggered me to dye my hair red. It’s my first time getting this color. Every time I get my hair dyed, it’s usually the “normal” and “company-friendly” shades of brown or light brown. Maybe it’s because of how 2016 is such a fuck up of year, or how I desperately needed something to signify that (good) change is coming. Or maybe I just wanted to try something new, like all girls (or people in general) do.

Or maybe I just wanted to change something in me to help me fight back from one hell of a year.

Red hair is usually associated with fire, passion, and bravery. Plucky heroes (and villains) usually possess such rouge tresses. I don’t consider myself a hero nor a villain, but something in me just feels as though it’s the right time to make a color change.

Another emotion associated with red is hate. And while it’s true that I’ve been dealing with such feelings a lot the past year (or ever), I don’t want to make my newly red hair as an excuse to hate some more. I’m still kind of a vengeful bitch, but it’s just so tiring to hate all the time.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I dyed my hair to bring out the courage in me. I figured that maybe having flaming red hair will bring out a flame in me – the flame that will drive me to take risks and do all the things anxiety has prevented me from doing.

I’ve got my plans laid out for my life, and the fire within me that has been dormant has been sparked by the hair dye I bought for 200 pesos at the supermarket. Maybe it’s just a flicker, but even a flicker can turn to wildfires.

I want to find the courage to run towards what I’ve always wanted despite all the uncertainty. The courage to get back up after constantly being dragged down. The courage to stick to my convictions and admit to myself where I might have gone wrong. The courage to show others exactly what I’m capable of. The courage to defend the defenseless. The courage to keep living.

I’ve always had a fascination for fire. Once, I have been told that I’m more like a candle than a firework. Quiet, but still shining. Usually overlooked and taken for granted.

Little do they know, even candles can burn houses down.